Stuart Kaminsky - Dancing in the Dark

“I’ll tell him,” I said loudly, taking the package.

“Meyerpresent cakes,” she said, pointing at the package.

“Smells good,” I said, lowering my voice. “About the gentleman. You should know he’s a murderer.”

“That is fine,” she said. “The Mister was a Methodist.”

Ten minutes later I was having a pair of tacos and a cup of coffee at Manny’s. Manny told me the war news and I kept an eye out for Juanita. If she came, I planned to retreat through the back door. She didn’t come.

Shelly was in the office, humming away. Violet hadn’t yet arrived.

“Mildred welcome you back?” I asked.

“With conditions,” he said, turning to me as he set up his instruments for his first victim of the day. “I’ve got to take her to Mexico for a vacation and I’ve got to fire Violet.”

“And you’re going to fire Violet?”

“No,” he said. “You are. We’re partners.”

“We are?”

“Always have been,” he said. “We share an office, a receptionist. You call on me when you need a hand. I call on you.”

“We are not partners, Shel. You want to fire Violet, do it yourself.”

“Concessions,” he said, turning to me and removing his morning cigar from his mouth. “Two months’ rent on the sublet free. You fire her.”

“Tell Mildred Violet works for me. I’ll pay her.”

“But Mildred. .”

“Forget it, Shel. I pay her. She works for me.”

I headed for my cubbyhole office with the package of Meyerpresent cakes for Lou Canton. Hell, I wouldn’t be seeing Lou till next Saturday. I knew I’d be picking him up to call on Mrs. Plaut. The package smelled great. I got behind my desk and opened the box. There were four round cakes. I started to eat one while I pulled out a sheet of paper and started preparing my bill for Fred Astaire.

Shelly burst in. “Maybe we can work something out,” he said frantically. “I tell Mildred Violet works for you and she’ll have to talk to you about firing her. I cut four dollars a month from your rent and you tell Violet to keep doing what she’s been doing for me.”

“No more rent on this closet, Shel, and I pay Violet. Best offer. Take it or leave it. You want a Meyerpresent cake?”

He took one, removed the cigar from his mouth, adjusted his glasses, and took a gigantic bite. That left two cakes for Lou. I knew I’d eat them. They were great and they’d be hard as coconuts by Saturday.

“All right,” Shelly said, taking the remains of his cake and leaving.

There were four notes on my desk, all in Violet’s neat hand. Before I looked at them, I typed up my bill for Fred Astaire:

Bill for Investigative Services:

Basic retainer (three days). . . $75.00

Accompanist (Lou Canton) for dance lessons. . . . . . $50.00

Parking (Monticello Hotel parking lot). . . . . . . $7.00

Actors (Pook Hurawitz, Jerry Rogasinian). . . . . $40.00

Cab fare for accompanist. . . $4.00

Poplin jacket (torn during pursuit of killer). . . . . $5.40

For information from desk clerk at Monticello. . . . . $10.00

Parking ticket. . . . . $3.00

Gas to Huntington Beach (two round trips). . . . . $5.00

Total. . . . . . . . $199.40

Astaire had given me a $200.00 advance. I subtracted my own fee ($75.00) which left $125.00. The total expenses listed came to $134.40, which meant that Fred Astaire owed me $9.40. I looked at the finished bill and tore it up. I still had what was left of the five hundred bucks one of Cortona’s men had left on the front seat of my car, and all of the five hundred Forbes had given me.

I looked at my phone messages.

Hy of Hy’s for Him called. He had a job for me.

Jack Ellis, a house detective at one of the downtown hotels, wanted to know if I would cover for him when he went on vacation next month.

A woman named Levine called, saying, “Where’s my cat?” I had searched for her missing cat more than three years ago. I had returned her fee. I had begged her to forget it, but she emerged to haunt me every four or five months.

The last message was the most interesting. It read: “Mr. Fields would like you to call him as soon as possible. A matter of great importance.”

There was a phone number and a time.

My day was planned. Finish my bill to Astaire. Go see Captain Cawelti. Retrieve my.38. To Mack’s Diner for lunch and Anita and an invitation for her to go out dancing Saturday night.

I hummed a few bars of “Lovely to Look At” and picked up the phone to call W.C. Fields.